


A Throne Fit For an Angel

by R_Quarion



Series: The Catalogue of Frowns [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Neck Kissing, Power Dynamics, Sub Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 10:57:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19462561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Quarion/pseuds/R_Quarion
Summary: A demon's throne is no fit for an angel. Or... is it? Aziraphale would suggest not. But once Crowley sees Aziraphale in his throne, he suggests otherwise. Maybe he would like to take a few orders.





	A Throne Fit For an Angel

Aziraphale was quite pleasantly content with he and Crowley’s frequent meetings at his book shop. There he was surrounded by all of his most noteworthy of books. Of course there were his prophecy books the most treasured of which was authored by Agnus Nutter. Others were less obvious to be of Aziraphale’s taste but damn him if he didn’t love to read one particular series regarding a detective who saved the universe. The story of this so called  _ Svlad Cjelli _ and his adventures to rescue humanity reminded him much of his own adventures. Only his had involved a demon of a companion and was less so to do with pizza, the colour pink and electric monks. More so with Satan himself erupting from the ground on which they had stood. But, he had thoroughly enjoyed them. So much so that he was inspired to drink tea more often then he had. It was, after all,  _ the long dark tea time of the soul _ . Other notable possessions of his that Aziraphale kept close to his heart was the works of Walt Whitman. Particularly, Leaves of Grass.  


_ I resist anything better than my own diversity, _

_ Breathe the air but leave plenty after me, _

_ And am not stuck up, and am in my place. _

Even Aziraphale was, on occasion, stumped by the meaning of Whitman’s words. But times had certainly been changing since he had written such words. They still sounded beautiful to Aziraphale and he continued to treasure such poetry. Poetry was in the form or play scripts too. Namely, Hamlet. He had that one tucked away especially. It had particular value, that one. A miracle done by the hand of a demon. Again, one of his  _ many _ notable possessions. But the most notable of all was the demon who always seemed to linger in the darkest parts of the book store. Although Aziraphale would consider him to be less of a possession and more of a companion who he hoped would continue to be found in the closest shadows for as long as they both shall live. It was almost tradition by that point. That Aziraphale would sit by his prophecy books late at night with a warm cup of cocoa. Crowley was always sitting across from him with red wine. Crimson, that type. Much like blood. Company was enjoyed, pointless chats were had and Crowley would always leave something there as an excuse to come back. Be it a pair of sunglasses or the record of Jazz by Queen. There was always  _ something  _ that Crowley had to return for. Part of Aziraphale wondered if these things were all to influence him. In which case he wondered exactly how Crowley planned to make a supersonic man out of him.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale said one night out of their peaceful silence. Content, it was. Their silence was always pleasant. Company could be admired in aura, it did not always have to be in words.  
“Mhm..?” He did not look up to Aziraphale but instead focused on spinning the disc on his index finger.  
“Well to start off with, I know you’re using a little supernatural to keep that disc balanced, there is most certainly minimal chance that you are that coordinated. Secondly, we are _not_ watching that movie.”  
Crowley screwed his face up into a frown at the comment. The kind of frown given when someone asks why aren’t blueberries _blue_? To which Aziraphale always argued that the human eye spectrum was subjective and it was inconsiderate to question why the almighty had named fruits as such. For a species they had so desperately tried to save- humans could be so ignorant.  
“Point 1- I am not!” Just as he insisted so, the disc slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor with a crash. He started at Aziraphale directly, refusing to look at the broken disc that was fragmented on the floor, “and Point B- why not?”  
“I have already told you, I do not enjoy such… _films_.”  
“Come on angel! It's Texas Chainsaw Massacre!” With a wave of Crowley’s fingers, the disc came back together.  
“It is frankly unruly and, mind you, you have it on laser-disc?!”  
“So?”  
“Frankly, nothing has been able to play laser disc since the 1970’s--”  
“My name isn’t Frankly, you know this--”  
“Crowley, I swear to--”  
“If you say the _G word_ , I’m going to burn this bookshop down.”  
“You wouldn’t dare.” The angel gasped softly.  
“Try me, darling.” Crowley smirked playfully. Riling Aziraphale up was always much too enjoyable.  
“Well I’d have to stay with you then, wouldn’t I…?” Aziraphale smirked back.   
“ _God forbid.”_ Crowley looked much too proud of himself.

Smirks weren’t exactly Aziraphale’s forte. He was trying to adapt and learn from Crowley’s but he only assumed it was somewhat below average. Aziraphale’s last comment had been met with a raise of eyebrows and the tilt of the glass. Crowley hummed lightly and kicked his legs up onto the table.   
“Speaking of, Crowley…” Aziraphale murmured softly, “why haven’t you bought me around to your place?”   
Despite the glasses, Crowley was obviously blinking in confusion. He cocked his head and screwed up his nose,   
“Well it’s… just tradition isn’t it? That we get wasted surrounded by book documenting… fuck knows, I don’t read them?”   
“ _ Well,”  _ he repeated, “what would be surrounding us if we were to be at your place of rest?”   
“Disappointment.” He quipped before flashing the angel a joking smile, “only kidding, it would be an extreme sort of disappointment. Like… when you open a chip bag and you realise you paid for more oxygen then actual chips.Or when you figure out it’s not chocolate chip cookie, it’s a raisin one.”    
Crowley pressed his lips together and nodded solemnly. Aziraphale had to shake his head at the demon.   
“Fine. Fine. We can go to mine.”   
That took a lot less arguing then he had expected. The little smile on Aziraphale’s lips reassured Crowley that this would be an acceptable idea with manageable repercussions. So the demon held his hand out to the angel and when their fingers intertwined he whispered a soft,   
“Hold tight angel.”

Aziraphale forgot that traveling as an angel was much different to how a demon would do it. In taking Crowley’s hand, the difference was very distinct. Aziraphale felt light when he traveled alone. Weightless, as if he were merely stepping through a smokey room. Demon travel felt more like wading in lava. Aziraphale’s skin was tingling much more than it ever really had. Once the two of them arrived, it took him a few seconds to regain his eyesight.   
“You alright there, angel?” Crowley teased, letting his hand go to let Aziraphale rub at his eyes.   
“Why would you even ask such a thing, I’m perfectly…  _ adequate _ .” Aziraphale couldn’t hide the way he had to moisten his lips with the tip of his tongue as he felt as if his mouth had been scorched.    
“Adequate, are you? Not, oh what was it, tickety boo?” He teased, still moving around the angel as he waited for his eyesight to return.   
“Will you ever stop teasing me for that?”   
“Nah, sounds boring.”

Aziraphale’s eyes adjusted to the room eventually. It was different to what he had been anticipating. For one, it was much brighter then he had assumed. Heaven was so bright so surely that meant that Hell was to be dark? Although Crowley’s house wasn’t directly in Hell so, maybe, there were a few exceptions to that assumption. His bookshop was often dark after all, and--   
“Aziraphale you think  _ loudly _ my dear. What’s on your mind?”   
“Oh.” He jumped, “just had my curiosity about the colour of the walls… grey slate and not…”   
“The burning flesh of my enemies?” Crowley interrupted, “tried that once, the neighbours didn’t like it.”   
Aziraphale became quite hypnotised by the amount of plants. Gorgeous in colour, they were. Flourishing.   
“These plants are…  _ spotless _ .”   
“Oh they better be…” Did Crowley just growl? And, more interestingly, did the plants just shiver?   
Aziraphale had no time to ask once he saw what had to be the main feature of the place.   


_The_ _throne_.

“Where ever did you get this?” Aziraphale asked softly, tilting his head at it.  
“Mmm you have your secrets angel, I have mine.”  
“I don’t have any secrets hidden from you…” Although speaking, his words were of little energy. He was much too distracted by the chair. Glorious, it was. Frame, arm rests and legs of the most pure gold. Almost the shade of Crowley’s very eyes. The red velvet was lush and undamaged. Patterns and paths painted their way across the item of furniture. It was stunning. Completely and undeniably fit for Crowley.  
“Go on then.”  
Aziraphale had to double take. Eyes of pure confusion. They were stunning too.   
“Pardon?”  
“You’re pardoned.” Crowley sniffed casually, “I’m kidding, you can sit on the throne if you want.”  
“Oh- well- that’s very kind- whatever gave you the idea?”  
“Maybe that you are so excited by it that I can see your wings materialising.” And so they were, feathers falling softly to the floor behind the angel.   
“Oh but I can’t…"  
"Go on, angel." Crowley ducked his head in the chairs direction.  
"Are you sure?" Aziraphale fiddled with the hem of his jacket perfusiously. Gorgeous material that one, being crumbled by nervous hands.  
"Just shut it and sit down.”

That got Aziraphale’s attention. Consider message received and understood. Although he was shaking as he sat down into the velvet padding. Often the throne was cold but a little miracle work could fix that. He didn’t want it to feel uninviting, after all.  
"Oh, Angel..." Crowley hummed, biting his lower lip, "look at you on that throne..."  
"It… feels strange. Considering it's not for angels. This isn’t for me.” Crowley trailed his eyes up Aziraphale until he met those eyes. They reminded him of something familiar. Something he had worked on. _ NGC7635- The Bubble Nebula.  _ That was certainly it. “This is wrong."  
"Darling. I’m a demon. Wrong is my thing..." and _ wow _ that sight really was Crowley’s thing. The chair fit Aziraphale perfectly in every single possible sense. The dark colours contrasting the glow of the angel. There was a conflict there between aura and moral. Colours of red began seeping into the white glow that was Aziraphale.    
“The chair, it… it makes me feel…”   
“Adrenaline, is it? Electric, maybe?” Crowley had to ramble to keep the rush in his chest at bay, “maybe something much like a near-miss? When your stomach drops?”   
“A little…” Crowley couldn’t help but hum at the sight.   
“By Satan…” He hissed, chewing his nails for distraction.   
“What is it, Crowley?”

Was honesty  _ really _ the best policy?   


“Oh, nothing… nothing in the slightest, I just…” Crowley looked at him again. Crowley lost his breath again. Classical conditioning, this would soon become. No longer would Crowley be able to look at that throne without seeing Aziraphale sitting in it. “Can you… put your arms on the arm rests…? And put one leg over the other…?”   
Aziraphale did just that. He sunk into it a little further as he did so, relaxing into the fabric of it.   
“Uh huh, yes, right yes…” Crowley was starting to pace, in a way, “I- well- you look... “   
It wasn’t often that Crowley was lost for words,   
“You look like… everything I’ve ever wanted.”

An odd ending to a sentence. But Aziraphale, slow and oblivious Aziraphale, finally put two and two together.  _ Four _ . And after that he also figured out why Crowley was acting how he was.   
“Oh…  _ oh _ … you like this, do you?” He shifted in his seat,   
“Angel, I quite certainly and very much undoubtedly  _ like  _ it.”   
There was that somewhat below average smirk Aziraphale had been practising. If anything, it made it all the more appealing.   
“Well then. Demon.  _ Kneel _ .”   
There was a rush there without doubt. Like electricity. It sparked through Crowley’s system and seemed to have no chance of calming. It was quite obvious that Aziraphale wasn’t exactly made for such a position of power. For when Crowley knelt, heart pounding, Aziraphale fell short of orders. The list started and stopped with  _ kneel _ . Crowley had expected as such.    
“May I  _ show _ my gratitude?”   
“You may.”   


In a swift movement, Crowley was moving closer to the throne. There he sat himself on Aziraphale’s thighs and pushed the angle back against the chair. Oh for Heaven  _ and  _ Hell’s sake, the two of them were utterly breathless. Crowley undid the bow tie by Aziraphale’s neck and then slowly popped the top few buttons of his shirt open.   
“For someone who resents Hell, you seem to be--” Aziraphale was cut off as Crowley roughly took the angel’s jaw in his hands and kissed him. Angels weren’t exactly built for intimate moments are such. No, Aziraphale’s mind was wired to consider the appropriate placement of miracles. Yet somehow, he found himself considering the appropriate placement of his hands. The answer to such inquiry was found when he rested them on Crowley’s waist and, by some means, slipping them beneath the shirt.   
“Well- for an angel-- that throne suits you-- better then  _ any _ demon…” Crowley muttered through quick breaths. Aziraphale was shaking a little. Of course it wasn’t exactly the  _ first  _ time they had been this close but. It was a rush each time. Unpredictable.

_ Strange; that a demon could make Aziraphale feel so divine. _

Stranger when Crowley let out little sounds of pleasure at Aziraphale’s hands. Every time he heard such thing, he couldn’t help but smile. To smile while kissing was a reoccurring trait of the angels. Crowley thought it was, for lack of a better word, adorable.    
“In another life- you would have- maybe been- an incredible ruler. All would bow and cower before you. Listen to your demands without question--” Aziraphale pulled himself away.  
“Shut up, demon.” his eyes glimmered with intrigue, “put your lips to more useful means.”   
“What do you mean by that, exactly?” Crowley shivered lightly, their noses brushing. It was then that Aziraphale considered Whitman's words with more consideration then before. The phrase: _I am in my place._ Would it really be so bad for Aziraphale to not be in his place? Because as far as he could tell, _this was so much nicer._  
  
“Kiss me,  _ demon _ . I order it.”

**Author's Note:**

> so i like the frowning similes. guess i'll make it a series


End file.
